My Balls Hit the Water
Another slow morning, slouched on cracked porcelain,
The tile cold, the air indifferent, nothing but yesterday’s dust for company.
Once, pride had a spine–stood tall, carved out a place in the world–
Now gravity’s cruelest joke is written in flesh,
Balls sagging into the bowl like a sad flag at half-mast,
A quiet humiliation that needs no audience.
The mirror doesn’t lie–
Wrinkled face, jaw gone slack, skin surrendering to age’s slow theft,
Youth fled like a thief through the window,
Left nothing but memories scattered like old bills on the counter,
Bones ache in places I never thought could hurt,
Time keeps score, no mercy for the stubborn or the lost.
My balls hit the water–every time I take the throne,
No warning, just that cold slap of truth,
Getting older, getting colder, wishing time would take a fucking break,
But there’s no negotiating with the clock,
Just the steady creep of years and a growing list of things I can’t fix.
Shadows of old friends linger at the edge of memory,
Names fade, faces blur, promises dissolve in the tide,
Sand slipping through fingers too slow to catch a single grain–
Life’s grip loosened by repetition,
No heroics, no grand finale–just another man trying to hold his ground
As the world slides sideways beneath him.
Gravity’s an unforgiving bastard,
Dragging everything down, pulling me toward the slow, bitter end,
Echoes of laughter bounce through the empty halls,
Mocking the days when I stood defiant, invincible,
But even the walls remember better years–
Now, every footstep is softer, every breath an effort.
Still, hold on–
Clutching the night like a lifeline, fighting time with every tired bone,
Refusing to surrender even as the haze creeps closer,
Just a man chasing down one more day,
Making peace with the absurdity, the indignities, the losses,
And maybe, in the end, finding some kind of dark humor
In the splash and chill, the honest confession
That nobody warns you–when you finally grow old,
Even your balls can’t escape the water.